


If Only

by notboldly



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-16
Updated: 2010-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/notboldly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving on doesn’t necessarily mean letting go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only

If Only

The conference was much as it always was between unallied planets; uneasy and slow. Captain Uhura would even say that it was a waste of time and of resources, were it not for the fact that—in the end—the anxious and oh-so-wealthy people of Justabina finally succumbed to the Federation’s demands (oops, sorry, she meant _terms of negotiation_ ) and agreed to become part of a wide circle of lost planets, planets that used to be independent but no longer had the strength. She knew that it was in no small part due to her translations making the alliance sound as unobtrusive as possible, that it was her pretty smile and completely innocent face that made it easy for the Federation to slip just _one more_ clause into an already dangerously demanding contract. She knew, but she didn’t care.

It hadn’t always been like this. Nyota could still remember when the Federation of Planets was more than just a name, when they believed (at least superficially) in what they stood for, when alliances were made with peaceful negotiations rather than veiled threats. It seemed like so long ago, back before the Klingons had devastated everything, before the Orions had cleaned out their allies, before the Romulans had self-destructed. So many disasters, so many mistakes…and yet here she was.

Only the strong survived, and here, among the few remaining captains, she was the strongest. There were others, of course, leaders in name only, but she knew how fast they would fall when the time came to test loyalty. She knew, because she had planned it.

Some had already fallen. Some, like Admiral Kirk, were already left in the dust of a destroyed homeworld, trapped in a box made of guilt knowing that they had caused it. They had never been punished, because they didn’t need to be—many of them, many of the people who knew them, had taken matters into their own hands. And yet, some—like Admiral Kirk—still remained.

Nyota despised him for that, but it was small in comparison to the other reasons she hated him. He knew that, too, and accepted it—part of his _martyr_ act, no doubt.

She wasn’t fooled, because she knew what he had done, what he had lost. It was more than a world; it was _everything_.

After the conference came to an end, he let her into his room without a word. She spared only a glance at him, at his face made imperfect by age and the threads of silver worming through his hair. Still boyish, still commanding, but broken all the same. It fit.

She glanced at the bed, and noticed that it was lower than the last time they’d met.

“You’ve had the bed adjusted.” It wasn’t a question, but he nodded.

“Yes. I thought it would make it easier.”

She felt anger then, a cold flash, but she calmly stamped it down.

“It’ll never be _easy_ , Kirk.”

He nodded again, and she sighed.

“Strip. Lie on the bed.”

“Hands and knees or face down?”

This was why he’d had the bed adjusted.

“Hands and knees. Where is it?”

He gestured to the nearest nightstand, and then began to pull off his clothes. Nyota ignored him, simply reaching a hand into the drawer and rummaging through it; she didn’t want to see him like this.

She grasped it, felt the differences, and pulled it out. A new one; this time, the length was larger, the width more impressive, the flare of the head shaped slightly different. Even if Kirk had been someone to want preparation before sex, it still would have hurt; as it was, the strap-on was going to injure him, possibly severely. Despite the size, however, the rest of it was almost delicate, all three straps made of faux silk and the clasps of a thin metal that she knew was strong. She didn’t ask; she simply began removing her clothes in an almost military fashion.

“I thought it would be more comfortable, for you.” It was kind of him; she hated it. If she had her way, they’d go back to the nylon and rubber of before, after this, but she knew that he’d probably already gotten rid of the latest model.

He was manipulative like that.

He was shivering as she approached him from behind; he always was. Nyota knew why, and she knew she would have done the same if she’d been in his position. The press of a warm body, and all you had to do was close your eyes, and suddenly, _he_ was there. A partner who actually let you feel and imagine the one you’d lost; what could be better than that?

 _Revenge_ , her mind argued. _Pain for him, for taking everything._ But then, that was why she was here.

She started with a slap, light on each cheek. It was to wake him up, to pull him out of his memories, because she didn’t want him lost just yet. Kirk barely stirred; he didn’t move much, these days.

Nyota dug her fingernails into his sides next, suddenly and in a dragging motion that made him hiss out even though he barely bled. She slapped those wounds, too, wishing it was his face, his _neck_ , that she was digging long nails into. Maybe later; if she’d planned on seeing him that evening, she would have brought a gag, a blindfold, a whip—anything to make it worse, and better.

Instead, she simply positioned herself quickly behind him, not giving him any chance to tense up but not giving him the satisfaction of a harsh penetration. She wanted him to enjoy it; she wanted him to remember.

She rubbed the large head against his opening, brushing lightly, and whispering just as softly.

“It’s your fault, you know. The lost chances. The world. My baby. Always you.”

“I know.”

He never argued with her, and already she could tell he wanted to cry. He remembered.

“You stood at our wedding. You came with me to the doctor, that first time. Do you remember?”

It was in her mind, the image of her child, the soul of the man she loved. That sexless infant never even had a chance.

“I do.” It was sweet mockery, unintentionally taking those words from a happier time and using them, here.

And Nyota was so, so angry with him.

She didn’t waste any more time, because if she did, she knew she would break down. So instead she thrust, holding the smooth column firmly while she splayed him open, hearing him gasp and moan while he took as much as he could. It was too large for him, too large for even the mighty _Kirk_ , but still he tried, bending forward on his elbows when she began to thrust.

The moans became different quickly; maybe it had to do with the size, the shape, but she knew he was trying to remember, and she leaned forward, pressed her breasts against his naked back to keep him from that peace for just a little longer.

It didn’t work. She could see him clench around the intrusion, knew that she would have been able to almost _feel_ _it_ with the old one, in the way he arched back, digging the straps into her waist and thighs as she tried to keep control. And then she heard it; one whisper, one word, and she stilled.

“ _Spock._ ”

She saw black; never red. Black like space, black like his eyes, black like her anger.

“I was _his wife_!” She screamed it into a room that may as well have been empty, knowing that the only person left who knew, who understood, didn’t care. He hadn’t cared back when it mattered, after all, and he certainly didn’t care then.

As if to prove her thoughts, he laughed, as dark a laugh as she had ever heard out of his perfect mouth. Mocking. Arrogant. For one split second, he sounded like the James Kirk of so long ago, the James Kirk of before.

“Yeah? Well, I was his _soul mate._ ”

She pulled back, dug her nails deeply into the meat of his thighs, and thrust as hard as she could. He howled, but she received no pleasure from it. She might as well have been dead at her center, for all the joy she took of this, but the pain…the pain…

Maybe if she hated him a little bit more, Spock would come back. Maybe if she hurt him, she could stop hurting. Maybe it could change everything if he was bleeding on the floor.

She shuddered, and felt tears run down her cheeks as she moved rhythmically, automatically. She was barely aware of him at all, now, but when he shuddered, she stopped, pulled out, pulled away, and threw the vile thing into the nearest trash bin.

She hated it. She needed it. And, as with every time before, he reached out to her afterwards, and she swung, hitting him over and over. He let her.

So many lost chances. If only she’d been there. If only Spock had stayed home. If only his pon farr hadn’t come early, while she was pregnant and away. If only Kirk hadn’t been there instead. If only she hadn’t gotten sick. If only Spock had been able to form a mind link with her, after everything.

If only Spock hadn’t died.

She ran out of energy quickly enough, and Kirk—still strong—picked her up and settled her neatly on the bed, or what remained after bloody sheets had been tossed to the floor. His face and eyes were red, as were hers, and she hit him once when he tried to wrap his arms around her, fulfilling his part of their bargain. Then she shuddered, and let it happen.

The tears came freely now, as did the words.

“It’s your fault, you know. He died to save _you_.” Spock had died, and left her alone. Left her, because his precious _captain_ had been in danger.

The arms around her tightened, and she was aware of how they just weren’t warm enough even when she tried to pretend. It would _never_ be the same.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It should have been me.”

She pounded on his arms one last time, a beat of despair, of anger, before she fell limply into exhaustion, her nails digging scratches into his arms. The last words she heard were like a mantra, his anguish mingling with hers.

“It should have been me. It should have been me.”

That, at least, was something they agreed on.

********

END


End file.
